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Monday, March 19, 2018

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Eileen will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly chosen winner via Rafflecopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and more chances to win.

J.P. O’Neill is in the fight of his life. A legendary agent with the DEA, he’s uncovered a conspiracy in his own agency. The only problem is he’s been arrested for the murder of his partner. If he goes to jail, he dies.

There’s only one solution—escape. The only way to do that is to kidnap his defense attorney. Lauren Taylor is a high-priced attorney doing a favor for a friend. Suddenly she finds herself on the run with the most dangerous man she’s ever met. Will she survive with her heart intact?

“Ms. Korbel generates an incredible chemistry between her two immensely appealing lovers that will set your heart on fire.” ~ RT Booklovers

Read an Excerpt:

The first time she saw him, he was unkempt, unwashed and unshaven. And that was after they’d cleaned him up.

“It says here you were a DEA agent,” Lauren mused, her eyes down on the file she’d been handed rather than the bedraggled man who sat across the table from her.

“I’m still a DEA agent,” he allowed, his voice gravelly with weariness, his hands clenched around a foam coffee cup.

He’d already finished the coffee. Now he was tearing little strips off the rim with his fingers, fingers that were so grimy that Lauren had thought twice about shaking his hand.

She knew his story was that he’d been undercover as a street person, but she wasn’t sure he’d had to go to quite the lengths he had. James O’Neill smelled like a cannery and looked like the bottom of an oil drum. His layered clothes were torn and filthy, his beard gnarled and unruly, a salt and pepper variation on the nondescript hair that straggled down the back of his neck from beneath a knit cap. The typical uniform of any of the thousands of lost men who wandered the streets and slept in parks and under bridges.

But that wasn’t what kept Lauren from facing him. She’d sat across from her share of derelicts. After all, she’d been with the public defender’s office before joining the firm of Paxton, Bryant and Filmore. She knew how to survive a pungent odor or two and didn’t think twice about the type of grime in which a man chose to coat himself.

What Lauren couldn’t quite face were James O’Neill’s eyes.

They’d been the first thing she’d noticed, the single startling contrast to the rest of the picture that made her believe that O’Neill had been, at least until a month earlier, one of the DEA’s top agents. Brilliant, according to the records she’d scanned. Canny, daring, a risk taker of the first order who’d netted some of the top players in the game by running some of the most unbelievable stings in the history of the agency. A legend in his own time.

The file before her also said that sometime around dawn the man who sat before her had shot down his ex-partner in cold blood in a public park rather than be hauled in on drug charges.

About the Author:

New York Times bestselling, RWA Hall of Fame author Eileen Dreyer has published 31 romance novels in most genres, 8 medical­forensic suspenses, and 10 short stories.

2015 sees Eileen enjoying critical acclaim for her foray into historical romance, the Drake’s Rakes series, which Eileen labels as Regency Romantic Adventure that follows a group of Regency aristocrats who are willing to sacrifice everything to keep their country safe. She is also working on her first non­fiction book, TRAVELS WITH DAVE, about a journey she's been taking with a friend's ashes.

A retired trauma nurse, Eileen lives in her native St. Louis with her husband, children, and a large and noisy Irish family, of which she is the reluctant matriarch. She has animals but refuses to subject them to the limelight.

Friday, March 16, 2018

Haley Snider thought Warren Chalmers was the perfect Dom, so she transformed herself into the perfect sub. A woman in love is truly blind, because Warren can be such an ass.

Warren doesn't really know what he wants, and questions the very perfection he apparently sought. Haley leaves Warren before he can reject her, unveiling a surprising temper and steely determination. He is both intrigued and forced to look at himself. He doesn't much care for what
he finds, and is determined to change, to seek Haley out and really get to know her.

Realizing that her obsession with Warren has kept her from being true to herself and him, Haley decides to embrace life differently. Upon reconnecting with her, Warren discovers his best friend Gordon Sinclair has a different idea in mind for them all, and that life can be filled with both friendship and love. And hot sex.

TRUE PERFECTION

Haley Snider left her selfish Dom and sought solace with her best friend. Gordon Sinclair facilitated Haley and Warren Chalmers’s reunion—with a twist. He proposes a ménage relationship. But Haley isn’t so sure. She’s afraid of getting hurt again and also wants to pursue her career and live her life outside of the bedroom, something Warren hadn’t accepted before. She resists their attempts at building a relationship and then tragedy strikes.

She blames herself, believing she has been selfish and her desperate, guilty feelings cloud her thinking. She won’t walk away this time but will wait for Gordon and Warren to realize she’s brought them too much trouble and tell her to leave. In the meantime, she will try to make amends, reverting back to pretense.

It takes considerable effort on her men’s part to help Haley face reality and accept what she truly needs and deserves.

ABSOLUTE PERFECTION

Georgios Andreas’s wife, Jane, left him and died under mysterious circumstances. Afterward, he avoided relationships outside of club play.

At a ceremonial claiming, he meets the sister of the submissive, there to bear witness to her sister’s claiming. Iris Snider draws him, initially because she looks like Jane, but he quickly realizes she is so much more. He is powerless against the attraction.

Georgios sweeps her off her feet, insisting she too is submissive. Iris, for the first time in her life, leaps before she looks. She falls in love and submits to Georgios, hoping for more than a D/s relationship, and he, too, dares hope for more.

Iris then sees a picture of Jane and is devastated by her resemblance to Georgios's dead wife. She refuses to take the leavings of a ghost. Georgios gives her space, inadvertently putting her in danger. Jane’s killer is still out there, and he, too, has seen the resemblance. And he hates
George.

Allyson Young lives in cottage country, Manitoba, Canada with her husband and numerous pets. She’s always enjoyed the written word and after reading an erotic romance, quite by mistake, decided to try her hand at penning one.

A bestselling Amazon author, a hybrid author, as of December 2017, she, along with her alter ego and three coauthors, has published four series and several standalones in contemporary, sci fi, fantasy and suspense genres—50 books in total.

Allyson will write until whatever inside is satisfied, until the heroes man up and the heroines get what they deserve. Love isn’t always sweet and Allyson favours the darker side of romance.

When mystery shopper Shannon Jacoby meets billionaire Declan
McCormick with her hand down a toilet in the men's room of one of his stores,
it's love at first flush in this hilarious new romantic comedy from New York
Times bestselling author Julia Kent.

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes
romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock
stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she
writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for
a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a
men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with
her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever,
down

Whoosh! Whoosh! I flush both urinals, then rush over to toilet #1. Whoosh! I stand in front of the stall to #2 and get ready to flush that one.

I’m in my own little world and let my guard down to ponder the question. I am also exhausted and most definitely not in top form, because I let a few seconds go by before realizing that someone is coming in the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye I see a business shoe, and that becomes a blur as I scurry into one of the stalls and shut the door.

Heart pounding, I stare at the dented back of the stall door. Then I look down. Chipped red nail polish peeks up at me from my open-toed navy shoe. Aside from being outed as a transgendered person in here, there’s no plausible reason why any men’s room stall occupant should have red toenails.

I quickly scramble to perch myself on the toilet, feet planted firmly on either side of the rim, squatting over the open bowl like I am giving birth. Because I am genetically incapable of balance—ever—and as my heart slams against my chest so hard it might as well be playing a djembe, I lean carefully forward with one arm against the back of the stall door, the other clutching my phone.

The unmistakable sound of a man taking a whizz echoes through the bathroom. I can’t help myself and look through the tiny crack in the door.

It’s Mr. Sex in a Suit, his back to me. Thank goodness, because if I got a full-frontal shot right now, then how would I answer the “aesthetically pleasing” question from a strictly professional standpoint?

The tiny bit of shifting I do to peer through the crack makes my right foot slip, and I make a squeaking sound, then lose my grip on my phone as my arm flails.

Ka-PLUNK!

You know that sound, right? I know, and you know, that I’ve just dropped my smartphone in the toilet, but he thinks the man—he assumes it’s a man—in here just delivered something the size of a two-hundred-year-old turtle into the toilet.

I look down. My phone is still glowing, open to the question “Is the bathroom aesthetically pleasing?”

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Men
and women of the armed forces experience desire and love pretty much like
everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist
attraction of "duty, honor, service" as a man might apply them to a
woman's pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty
sexy, compelling force for which you'd better be armed, whether weighing anchor
and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or
setting a course for renewed love with anchor home.

"And what is your name, pretty?"
Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to
face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp
teeth.

"Roger," a man standing next to
her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten
inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.

The guy had a solid profile, strong chin,
chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown
hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn't disguise
the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was
near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his
jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass
index number.

As a doctor, she immediately noticed body
characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of
admiration was hard. Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention
to whether they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm
before she "saw" them. She noticed if a man's eyes were dilated or glittered
with fever before she registered eye color. Dates started with mini
examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that's just
the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was
why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on
her own.

Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a
shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. "I
wonder what you looked like," she murmured. "What color were you,
what did you eat, and what's your name?" She bent to read the exhibit
information.

"Gray. Grass." That same guy had
followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think
he was a weirdo. "Annnd, roger."

Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit.
"And you are–"

"Roger."

He stood beside her again! Mel started to
look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips,
she turned to him. "Stop following me," she said loudly enough that
people in the general area turned to see what was happening.

The guy said, "Hold it."

Hold it? Hold it, as in "Wait a minute, little lady?" She opened
her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her
the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she'd ever seen. The words stuck in her
mouth.

"I'm sorry, what?"

In a lower voice she said, "You're
following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to
stop."

"I didn't realize…" He wiggled
the glasses at her. "I'm working here and I'm afraid I didn't notice
you."

Well. What was worse, that he was a
pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn't a perv and hadn't even
noticed her?

His brow furrowed while he studied her.
"Yes. Yes." Then he shook his head. "Roger."

Again with that Roger.

"Gotta go. Later." Then he
smiled at her. "Just a minute, okay?" He folded the glasses and put
them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor
and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed
something from his right ear—an earbud?—protected it and also put it in the
case.

Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He
expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he
stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart
stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the
word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint.
This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.

And Good God. He hadn't been talking to
her, he'd been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud.
Embarrassment flooded her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I
thought you were…" She slid her hand between the two of them and then to
the exhibits.

"No," he said. "I apologize. I shouldn't be testing this
stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him
Roger." His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North
Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the
mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired
from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and
relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.

Stop
that! She laughed. "I thought you were naming each
dinosaur." He smiled and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled
and Mel's breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution.Could bring on lustful intentions and
ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.

He held out his hand. "David
Stimson."

She took it gingerly, half expecting
lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He
had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it
firmly. "Melissa Crandall."

"Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I
wander along with you?" Grasping the briefcase with his left hand, he
deftly, he moved to the left of her.

"No, please. It's a free
country." She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. "And this one
is…" She half waited for his pronouncement.

"Not Roger," he said, stopping
her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information.
"Torosaurus latus. It says here
that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed
from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land
mammal."

"Well, I guess that's something to be proud of," Mel
responded. David laughed and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to
the next exhibit, he strolled along with her, hands behind his back.

He pointed to the next specimen.
"Poor guy. Starved to death."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

"Can't you tell? He's all
bones."

*****

Author Bio:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing,
making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed
people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility.
And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at
it. That's how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she's lucky that her
dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and
nights are their secret. Dee loves writing erotic romance and sharing her
stories with you. She hopes you enjoy!

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Brandi Evans will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Raven:

I’ve spent my life depending on one person: myself. I’ve learned the hard way other people will only let me down. I’ve worked for everything I have, but thanks to my drug-addicted mother, I’m about to lose the one thing I’ve craved for years. Needing to make some extra cash, I ask my boss at Restrained Fantasies, a Dallas BDSM club, for some extra shifts. Much to my chagrin, Master Carter Burkes is with him, and Carter leaps to my rescue, bound and determined to save me—only I’m not the kind of girl who needs to be saved.

Carter:

I can’t sit by while Raven, a recurring figure in my fantasies, is in trouble. My job as a detective keeps me busy, but I’m not looking for a relationship, just a sub to assist with a class I’m teaching: Reading Your Submissive. Raven always claimed she wasn’t a member of the lifestyle, so imagine my surprise when I discover a budding submissive inside her. She gets under my skin in ways I can’t fight, but emotions are dangerous. I learned that the hard way. Is getting close to Raven a mistake? Will I destroy her life like I destroyed the life of the only woman I’ve ever loved?

This is book two in the Restrained Fantasies series but can be read as a standalone.

Publisher’s Note: This romance is intended for adults only. It contains elements of danger, suspense, mystery, BDSM, sensual scenes, romance and adult language. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.

Read an Excerpt:

Carter needed a sub, and he needed one now.

In four hours, he was supposed to start a class at Restrained Fantasies, the Dallas BDSM club that was his second home, but forty-five minutes earlier, the sub he’d enlisted to be his teaching subject had called in sick. How was he supposed to give a class on reading subs without a fucking sub?

If he had a little more time, he’d be able to find someone from Restrained Fantasies’ clientele, but time was the one thing he didn’t have. And not having everything planned out ahead of time scraped on his every nerve.

Carter dropped onto the leather desk chair across from one of the club’s co-owners, Brock Michaels. The other man made an interesting contrast to the sleek modern feel of his office. Brock was menace and intimidation that had somehow been fused together to create a living person. Shaved head, tattoos covering most of his upper body, the man oozed bad-boy-biker out the wazoo. He was the kind of man Carter, a detective outside the walls of the club, would pay close attention to if he were skulking around in dark alleys at night.

“Oh, I know who I could ask,” Carter said with a smile, the suggestion more to get a rise out of his friend than being an actual suggestion. “You could always let me use your pretty little sub. Viv looks spectacular in chains.”

Brock glared up from the paperwork scattered across his desk, his expression a few degrees shy of homicidal. “I don’t share Viv with anyone. Ever. And if you want to keep your testicles from being kicked into your throat, you’d do good to remember that.”

Carter fought to keep his grin from spreading and failed miserably. “I know, I know. Viv’s off limits. What about her friend Anne? Do you think she’d be game?”

“Most likely.” The other man leaned back, crossing muscular arms across a chest about as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Anne’s game for almost anything. If she says no, you could always ask Terry. She might like the overtime.”

“Already asked Terry, but she has plans she said she couldn’t get out of.”

Brock opened his mouth to respond, but a knock sounded against his partially open office door, and an angel followed the sound inside. Well, a dark angel anyway. Raven Malek, with her blacker-than-black hair and purple highlights, tattoos running the length of her arms and shoulders, nose and eyebrow piercings, ripped jeans, and a T-shirt with a bleeding rose could never be classified as an angel. But damn, she drew him in with the unstoppable fury of a supermassive black hole.

Emphasis on black.

Raven was one of two bartenders at Restrained Fantasies and, for the past few months, she’d also been an on-again, off-again player in Carter’s jerk-off fantasies. He couldn’t pinpoint precisely when the young woman had snagged his attention, but she had. All five-foot-six, lush and curvy inch of her.

What would her sexy body look like tied open to him?

About the Author:

Brandi Evans was raised by a caravan of traveling Gypsies. She spent her days learning the ways of her people and her nights lost in legends as old as time. Okay, not really, but that's way more interesting than the truth!

In reality, Brandi grew up the oldest child of an ordinary family. Grade school, middle school, high school. Nothing extraordinary happened until she left the nest. She joined the military, went to college, got married, and became a mom. And somewhere along the way, she discovered she liked to read—and write!—stories hot enough to melt eReaders.